We made another ten steps. He froze. Went down.
I jerked hard. Once. Twice. He didn’t roll.
Pull again. It was like tug-of-war with an immovable object.
“Get up, Twaz,” I shouted. “Get up!”
I yanked three more times as hard as I could. “On your feet.”
He gave up, staggered to stand. He struggled to follow me.
“You’re doing a good job, Robbie.” Dad jogged toward me, Vicky behind him carrying a stable sheet. “Dr. Tomlinson is on the way. Your mom is mixing up mineral oil, molasses, and hot water. Jack will be here in a few minutes with the gas reliever, and Felicia is bringing muscle relaxants.”
A tear slid down my cheek, and I bit my lip. “What if he dies?”
“Not likely.” Dad took the rope from me. “Blanket him so he stays warm and doesn’t go into shock.”
Vicky stepped to the right side, opening the blanket. “Cobbie died from colic.”
“I know he did,” Dad said, “but he was old. He had an impaction from the grass clippings someone threw over the fence. We didn’t find him until it was too late. This horse is young and strong. He’s tough. Nobody else could have survived starvation, lice, intestinal worms, and eating half his tail.”
A giggle slipped past. I adjusted the stable sheet on Twaziem so it hung halfway down his left side. “He didn’t eat his tail, Dad. That’s just dumb.”
“Yes, he did. At first, I guessed it had been rubbed out because of the lice. Then, Jack pointed out that the bottom half is what’s missing and the top is still here.”
“I told you he’s awful.” Vicky passed me the girth. “You should have picked the best horse you could find, not the worst.”
“I picked the one who needed me most.” I lifted my chin. “And I don’t care how many days and nights I walk him. If it takes a week, I’ll be here for him. He deserves a real life.”
Vicky gasped. “How long are you going to walk him?”
“Colic can last from one to three days,” Dad said. “I’d guess we’ll be up all night with this fella. We walked Cobbie for two days straight.”
“All day and all night,” I said. “I remember being so tired that I thought I’d forget how to walk.”
“He still died,” Vicky pointed out. “How do you know this one won’t?”
“We don’t.” Dad petted Twaziem’s neck. “I’m willing to bet that he’s a fighter. He’ll try and so will we.”
I sighed and glanced at Vicky. When she was in a good mood, nobody could be more fun. For the last six months, since her dad moved out on her birthday, Vicky had done more griping than ever about how I treated my family, and it was getting old.
“This is not going to be a fun night.” I didn’t want to be rude to Vicky, but there was no way that the family could concentrate on saving the horse and be good company too. “Maybe, you’d better stay over another time. Would next Saturday be better?”
“Why don’t I walk Twaziem while you two decide?” Dad asked. “Vicky, if you want to go home because there’s too much work to do tonight, I’ll have Jack take you.”
I passed the lead rope to Dad and waited until he and Twaziem were on the far side of the arena. “Well, what do you want to do?”
“You invited me to spend the night,” Vicky said, “and now that you’ve got a horse, you don’t want me.” She sounded as if she were going to cry at any moment.
Guilt swamped me. Had I been picking on Vicky? Yes, she was going through some hard times right now. I should be more understanding instead of trying to get rid of her, but the constant carping about Twaz got old in a hurry.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hassle you. It’s just that I’m worried about Twaz, and I won’t be good company tonight. You can stay if you want.”
“No thanks. I’m going home. You’ve chosen that awful, ugly horse over me.”
“No, I haven’t.” I watched as she stormed toward the gate. “Do you want to sleep over next weekend?”
“Why not? Maybe you can make your horse sick again, and then you can send me home again.” She slammed the gate to the arena and stalked through the dark toward the house.
I stared after her, sobs clogging my throat. The last thing I wanted to do was lose her, but it seemed impossible to stay on Vicky’s good side lately. No matter what I did, Vicky chewed me out. Most of her time she was right, I thought, but it didn’t make my life any easier when I was constantly in the wrong.
Heaving a sigh, I went back to Twaziem. I shrugged when Dad glanced at me. “Vicky decided to go home.”
“I don’t blame her,” Dad said. “You weren’t making her feel very welcome.”
“It’s hard.” I sounded like a whiner, but I didn’t care. “I was tired of listening to her gripe about how awful Twaziem was. It’s not his fault that he’s been starved. She was acting like the guy who wanted to take Twaz up to the slaughter house just because he looked awful, and she’s supposed to be my friend.”
Dad kept walking Twaziem around the arena. “Did you ever think she might be jealous? Vicky loves animals as much as you do, but she can’t have any pets. She was telling us that she might not get to do her internship at Shamrock Stables, and that’s going to hurt her GPA.”
I stopped and stared, then hurried to catch up with him. “Dad, she has to do it. Rocky arranged special hours and everything. If Vicky blows off the internship, then she won’t be able to complete her Sophomore Project, and it’s majorly important.”
“Really?” Dad said, sounding stupid and not like himself. “And why is that, Robbie?”
“Because it ties together our community service obligation, and three of our core classes.” I stared after him. “Okay, so you’re right. She’s overloaded, and I wasn’t listening. She’s not really mad about the horse.”
“No, she’s not. Why don’t you call and apologize?”
“Because she doesn’t have a cell.”
He gave me a look that said I was acting like a typical blonde, and I caved. I pulled out my cell and called the house. Felicia answered.
“Tell Vicky to come back and help,” I said. “I was being mean and I’m sorry.”
“More like the other way around,” Felicia said, “but you got it.”
I tucked away the phone just as Mom came into the arena.
“Sorry, I took so long,” Mom said. “Jack found some laxatives, and Bill is bringing the Banamine. We’ll simply have to walk Twaziem if he starts having cramps and tries to roll.”
“He’s already been rolling.” I took the lead rope from my father and led Twaziem toward Mom at the far end of the arena. “Dad says he thinks Twaz has a better chance than Cobbie did.”
“You bet he does.” Mom shook the small bottle holding her home remedy. “Cobbie was a goner when we found him, but we didn’t want to accept it.”
“It was still hard to accept after two days of nursing,” Dad said. “Cobbie was a good pony.”
“He sure was.” Mom took the cap off of the molasses bottle. “I put everything Twaziem needs in here to ease his constipation. I just hope he takes it better than Singer does when she has colic.”
“He will.” I stopped Twaz in front of her and stepped around to the right side, lifting up his head so she could get the lip of the bottle in the corner of his mouth. “He’s into food.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve already remembered how to be a horse owner.” Dad smiled at me. “The good ones always think that their horses are the best.”
Chapter Eight
Sunday, September 15th, 2:00 a.m.
Although I thought we might have to walk Twaziem all night, the mineral oil, gas reliever tablets, and muscle relaxants took effect shortly after one in the morning. He was pooping up a storm—all of it pretty solid and no diarrhea. As Felicia said, it took very little to make horse people happy, and she spent most of the time counting turds, cheering whenever Twaz pooped again. She so needed to get a life.
&n
bsp; Dr. Larry Tomlinson pronounced Twaziem on the road to recovery after the fourth bowel movement. My horse even stopped pawing, and trying to roll and lie down. He was more interested in the scraps of hay he found in the corner of the arena.
“Go ahead and put him back in his stall, Robin,” Dr. Larry said. “We’ll watch him for a while and make sure he’s okay.”
Jack stretched and yawned. “Bill and I can camp out in the aisle. Then if Twaziem starts rolling again, we’ll pull him out and walk him. I can med with Banamine for the cramps.”
“We’ll stay too,” I said, looking at Vicky. She nodded agreement. So did Felicia.
“Why don’t you girls go up to the house?” Mom cuddled next to Dad. “Felicia needs to get some rest so she can drive back to Pullman tomorrow. Robin and Vicky can come back at seven and take over. That way we’ll share looking after Twaziem.”
Dr. Larry began packing up his supplies. “Poor nursing is what causes the most deaths from colic. Splitting up the shifts to look after Twaziem just makes sense.”
I considered the schedule while I led my horse back to his stall. I unhooked the lead and left on the halter. Then, whoever was nursing him would be able to catch him if he suffered a relapse. “Actually, that sounds pretty good. Thanks, Jack.”
“What about me?” Bill asked. “Aren’t you going to thank me, Freckle-face?”
“Not when you call me names,” I retorted. “And I haven’t had freckles for years.”
“Bill only does it to get your attention.” Dad chuckled. “Guys, go get your sleeping bags. The rest of us will stay here and watch Twaziem until you return.”
“Works for me,” Jack said. “Come on, Bill.”
Dr. Larry leaned against the wall, continuing to study Twaziem. “He looks like the kind of horse you’d bring home, Robin. I’ll never forget the three-legged dog you found or the way you coerced me into helping you find the owners.”
I shrugged. No matter how much he teased me about rescuing animals, I knew he liked me because of what I did. He didn’t care if I was Felicia and Jack’s baby sister. He never judged me. “You were the one vet I could trust to scan him for a microchip and not charge me a million dollars. And Zeke’s owners were thrilled when he came home. I still visit them.”
“So do I,” Dr. Larry said. “Want to go with me next time? You can help me doctor their feral cats for ear mites and fleas.”
“You have the wrong kid, Larry.” Dad stopped smiling. “Felicia and Jack are the ones who are going for medical careers.”
Dr. Larry reached for a package of chewing gum in his pocket and passed a stick to me, one to Felicia, and one to Vicky. “I know that’s what you say. They’ll both be excellent doctors, and Jack will make a good veterinarian. He’s smart and skillful, but Robin is the one I’ve waited for. She’s got the heart and empathy to make a great vet.”
“That’s news to me.” I stared up at the short, paunchy man as I peeled the paper from the gum. “I hate school and vets have to be smart.”
“She’s got you there, Larry,” Dad said. “Her grades are terrible. If she wasn’t on cross-country and track, she’d barely pass. You better concentrate on Jack.”
My cheeks burned with a painful blush. Maybe my grades weren’t as good as my brother’s or sister’s, but what was the point in trying when I couldn’t measure up to either of them? Why didn’t Mom say something? She kept looking at the two men as if she’d never seen them before. Did she even hear the discussion?
Dr. Larry eyed me. “Do you have learning disabilities, Robin?”
“Of course not,” Mom finally spoke up. “We’ve had every test done. We thought she’d get more stimulation in a private school, so we enrolled her in the same one Jack attends. Lincoln High is one of the top ranked schools in the state. They hired Robin’s track coach to teach there last summer, but she simply does the minimum amount of class assignments, just enough to keep her athletic eligibility.”
“Sounds like me,” Dr. Larry said. “I didn’t start working until I was a junior in high school. Then it was hard to learn all the stuff I’d ignored for so long. You can still be a veterinarian even if you play around, Robin.”
“I can? Then, why does everybody keep pushing all this boring stuff at me?”
“Because you’ll have to work harder later on,” Dr. Larry said. “It’s easier if you start studying now, especially if you get good grades in math and science.”
“That’s how I got scholarships,” Felicia told me. “The good thing about those is you don’t have to pay them back. Otherwise, you end up with a ton of student loans when you graduate from college.”
That made sense, and it explained why Vicky studied so much. She was determined to go to a four year university.
“But our classes are so boring,” I said, “even math and science.”
“How can math be boring?” Dad asked. “It’s challenging, a puzzle that stretches your mind.”
“Your books and accounting stuff aren’t boring, Dad,” I explained. “It’s the junk we do over and over in school. That’s really dull.”
“I have to admit that she’s right about that,” Vicky agreed.
Jack and Bill came back with armloads of things they felt necessary for spending the night in the barn. They had blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags, not to mention bags of chips, bottles of soda and a package of candy bars.
Dad kept staring at me as if I’d grown two heads. “You’re reading my books?”
“You said it was okay,” I reminded him. “And Dr. Larry told me that most small businesses fail because of poor bookkeeping practices. Veterinary clinics are considered small businesses, so I read your textbooks and magazines.”
“That was last spring.” Dad shook his head, obviously baffled. “I don’t understand, Robbie. If you can comprehend difficult accounting principles, then why did you almost fail math last June?”
“You just don’t get it.” Vicky and I started toward the barn door. “School is boring. Accounting is interesting. It’s all about money. What could be dull about that? I like money.”
“Who doesn’t?” Felicia caught up with us. “Anyway, I told you that you should pay her for grades, and Robin would have a four-point.”
My car came to mind, and I said, “I could so go for that.”
“I’ll bet you could,” Mom told me. “I just don’t see why we should reward you for not working up to your abilities.”
* * * *
Sunday, September 15th, 4:00 p.m.
When I hit the barn that afternoon, I brought my brushes so I could groom Twaziem for the first time. Vicky had gone home shortly after Felicia left at noon. I’d promised to email photos to my older sister so she could see how my horse progressed between now and her Thanksgiving break. She might make it home before then, but there weren’t any guarantees.
As for Vicky, I’d see her tomorrow at school. I’d promised to help her figure out a way to do her internship so she wouldn’t fail her core classes, and next time she was overloaded, she said she’d share her problems, not chew me out. Twaziem turned to look at me, but he refused to step away from the manger of hay. Was it my imagination or had he already gained weight?
“You can’t groom him,” Jack said, behind me. “You’ll brush off the lice powder, and then it won’t kill the bugs. Dr. Larry told me to dust him again in three days.”
I struggled to hide my disappointment. Why did leaving him alone bother me so much? I was going to sell him when he was healthy and trained. It’d be better not to become attached to him. It was always harder to find homes for stray kittens and puppies when I loved them. It wasn’t like I planned to care for Twaziem, anyway. “Delousing him again means I won’t be able to brush him for at least a week.”
“Yeah, but you can always brush Nitro for me.”
“No way. Nitro always tries to bite me. He’s mean.”
“Spirited. If you didn’t squeal and jump around, Miss Wimpy, then he wouldn’t pick on you.�
�
“That’s Ms. Wimpy to you.” I tossed my head and went to put my brushes in the tack room. It was the same size as one of the stalls, with six saddle pegs. Only four of them held western saddles. Tears misted my eyes when I spotted the tiny one that Cobbie used to carry so proudly. On the front of the peg was a hook and his old bridle.
Putting down my tote-box and brushes, I crossed to the peg and picked up the bridle. The leather was soft, and I wondered who had cleaned and oiled it. I remembered the times I struggled to put on Cobbie’s bridle by myself. He was so patient. He’d put his head down for me and open his mouth and just wait while I slipped in the bit and fitted the headstall.
I forced back my tears. I’d forgotten the number of times I bawled over Cobbie. None of my tears brought back the Welsh pony mix. Feeling bad didn’t change the facts. Cobbie was gone. All I could do was go forward with my life and learn from my mistakes. It would be stupid to care as much about Twaziem as I had my pony. I couldn’t handle the emotional investment.
I picked up my tote-box and put the brushes on the shelf with my name. When had Dad painted ‘Robin’ on the wall in the tack room? When did he know they were getting a horse for my sixteenth birthday? Why didn’t he tell me the car wasn’t an option?
I had a lot of questions, but no answers. I went back to Twaziem’s stall. He kept eating, but he flicked his ears while Jack mucked. I had a pocketful of carrots for Twaz, so I went into the stall, too. He stomped his rear hooves, and I paused. “If you kick Jack, I won’t give you any of these. I’ll feed them all to that stinky, nasty, smelly Nitro.”
“Nitro doesn’t smell,” Jack said, indignant. “I bathe him all the time.”
Twaziem stomped again, aiming a kick at my brother. “I don’t think he likes you.”
“Grow up, Robin. Horses aren’t people. They’re animals. They don’t like or hate things the way we do.”
“Bull.” I stepped up beside Twaziem and offered him a long, stringy carrot. “I don’t see how you can go places with Dr. Larry when you think animals don’t have feelings.”
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